Tales of Rolf and Luna
by fortheloveofgodineedanewone
Summary: If you have read the Prophet, it would tell you that the naturalist duo met in marshes of Brazil, where Rolf Scamander, grandson of renowned Newt Scamamder swept the eccentric Luna Lovegood off her feet. If you believe that,you must remember that Prophet exists to sell itself, silly girl.
1. part 1 and part 2

**disclaimer** : These are not my characters except to play with. They belong to J. K Rowling.

**warning** : My Luna, or the way I envision her, or write her may not be the way you perceive her. An advance warning. :D

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_ accidentally in love  
_**Tales of Rolf and Luna**

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** part 1 : _first sight._**

If you must know how it all happened, then don't pay attention to snatches of interesting conversations or raucous laughter, or of snogging that happened in the corners of Three Broomsticks. At midnight, an unnatural sombre silence would steal over this boisterous lot, because at midnight, they would all sit in silence and honor those who had fallen in the Battle of Hogwarts before toasting to their hero, the Boy Who Lived.

Now, pay attention to the dirty blonde hair in the corner, picking airily at her Butterbeer cork necklace, a seemingly unconscious habit when she is in deep thought. Got the picture?

Now look at the young man, sitting on a table diagonal from hers, slamming his drink down to the table, spilling its content and declaring that he would walk, in a line, one foot in front of another, to prove that he was not, in fact, drunk.

"I have always wondered" he announced to no one in particular, in a manner of satisfying a scientific curiosity. "Why does inebriation hamper our ability to walk in a straight line. I want to discount that theory right here, right now". Believe you me, the narrator is being kind by letting you read what he had said instead of what came out as drunken slurs in speech that no one, except the blonde woman payed attention to, snapping out of her reverie.

He staggered and fell at his third attempt, but he was caught by the her. She had her arms wrapped around his waist and pulled his hand to wrap it around her shoulders so she could give him better support, and she whispered, "You know, I have always wondered that too but I have never been drunk enough to test the theory."

The man turned to look at her and there was an uncomfortable clenching in the pit of her stomach as he stared at her, then he asked, with an honest curiosity. "Why not?"

The woman smiled at him, even when the queer feeling told her to look down and blush when the man stared, but she looked at his face, wondering why she felt that way, why she felt compelled to obey it, even with Firewhiskey's smell from his lips and the stubbles she can count, " I will drink my first Firewhiskey on the day I catch Crumple Horned Snorkack."

She lowered him back into his chair.

The young man looks at her, the serene unaffected disposition, the blonde hair that fell to her waist, and the light in those wide eyes, he thinks he has seen a goddess. And here, he credits it as great amount of self control (_yeah right_, the narrator feels inclined to add) despite the inebriation, that even though he wants to pull her to him and snog her senseless, he does not do so.

Alright, alright, let us skip the honoring of the heroes, toasting Harry Potter , raising glasses in his name. Let us also skip where the young man is handed a Sobering Potion by Rosmerta the barmaid, who believed, perhaps a little fiercely, that everyone should be able to pay their respects when the clock strikes twelve and not babble like bumbling band of baboons. The chatter would die out, the silence would take over, the toast is murmured as everyone files out the bar to the summer night, looking at the twinkling castle in the distance, and fireworks in the sky.

As it goes in these stories, he sought her out and said, "I'm sorry. It does not usually hit me as hard."

He was not sure whether he was talking about the alcohol or the anniversery, but he was sure she understands anyway. " Thats alright" she said, kindly.

"Rolf" he held out a hand. "Rolf Scamander".

There was a flash of recognition in the young woman's eyes, and Rolf could feel himself shrink (_oh grandson of Newt Scamander!_), but she takes his hand. "I expect I'll be running into you soon, Mr. Scamander."

"Yes" he said, stupidly. "Run into me soon."

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** part 2 : when you try to fish information from your best friend.**

Charlie Weasley was laughing. "Luna Lovegood? Yeah I know her, alright."

Rolf waited for information.

"Haven't you ever read The Quibbler?" Charlie asked, curiously. "No, I haven't" Rolf replied. "Is she a journalist?"

( He was filled with apprehension at the thought of her being a journalist. They always seem less interested in his profile as a naturalist and proceed to describe his "rebellious" beginnings in romanticized fashion. )

"Her father owns it. I used to read it when I was back home. Lunacy at its best, I tell you. Inoffensive mostly." Charlie grinned.

"I think you lost the right to call _anything_ lunatic, Weasley." Rolf quipped. " As I remember, you watch beast pornography."

"Academic interest, Scamander" Charlie said, lazily as he proceeded to finish his Butterbeer.

"So tell me about Luna" Rolf persists.

Charlie yawned. "Her father owns The Quibbler, studied in the same year as my sister, who, by the way, is weirdly territorial about her friends, so you might not want to cross _her_. Anyway, she is a naturalist as you are, made famous by discovery of Wrackspurts. Used to go out with Neville Longbottom the Sword Wielder, who is now married to the lady who owns the Leaky Cauldron. Her ambition is to prove the existence of a creature called Crumple Horned Snorkack.."

"What do you know, Charlie" Rolf was grinning. " You actually pay attention to the gossip."

"Oh I do" Charlie said, sincerely. "Too bad I wasn't attracted to Luna though. She would have been fun to go out with".

"You weren't?" Rolf was doubtful. Luna Lovegood was a goddess. He, at the moment, couldn't picture what it was like _not_ to be attracted to her. Of course, as Harry Potter would tell you, dear reader, not being attracted to Luna Lovegood would make you think she had straggly dirty blonde hair and had protuberant, "mad", pale eyes. Whether a disinterested viewpoint or an interested view point is the truth, that is for readers to discern.

"No, I wasn't. She is my sister's age. That thought puts a damper on any feelings whatsoever."

"Or, what concerns you is that she is your sister's _friend_"

There was a pause.

"Sod off, Scamander. I'm not scared of the sister."

"Whatever you'd like to believe, Weasley."

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**note** : I always thought I'd put this one up when my outline for chapter 2 is more defined than the snippets I have done, but I decided not to wait for it anyway. Read and review. :)


	2. part 3 and part 4

**warning : **The usual. Also, I'm aware the characters are British. I'm not. I probably won't get the expressions they use and I'm not going to try very hard to write what I can't write, and I do understand that is deterrent to enjoyment for a lot of people because Harry Potter, with its universal appeal, has very British characters. So I'm saying it as an advanced warning.

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_Because if it happened faster than a dragon laying eggs, it wouldn't be as much fun.  
_******Tales of Rolf and Luna  
**

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**prelude to part 3 : what they have in common**

Rolf Scamander had seen the death of his great great grandfather on a pleasant Sunday afternoon. It happened the moment the glasses slipped from Newt Scamander's nose as he bowed to the Hippogriff in their paddock and before the Hippogriff made its answering bow, his great grandfather collapsed to the ground.

The Muggles had called the cause of death a "cardiac arrest" and his mother called it "poor dear was getting so old.." as a way of comfort. Either of those consolations made him want to laugh, because the image of the Hippogriff bowing to his great great grandfather's dead body was funny in a morbid way. You see, death is not something to be laughed at, and whenever he thought of his great great grandfather's death, Rolf Scamander wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He had seen Thestrals since.

Luna Lovegood saw the death of her mother, a blinding white light after her mother's wand jerked in her hand, and her mother dropped, eyes wide open. Her father bawled at the sight of the body but Luna did not cry. Luna watched, her tiny fingers held the chest of her frock like she would break in two, but she did not cry. She would see her mother again, she would find meaning to her death and carry on her mother's legacy. She had seen Thestrals since.

**part 3 : a practice in ignorance and denial of romantic attraction, as observed by Charlie Weasley.**

What was Rolf playing at?  
He had gotten drunk in front of her, and possibly had made a fool out of himself and yet here he was, talking to her about Thestral breeding as cold and composed as ever.

She, however, was unassumingly herself. Well, that is what Charlie had to assume when in the middle of her conversation with Rolf, she nearly boxed his ear claiming that a Billywig or Fillywag or Letusshag or whatever it was hovering near Rolf's ear.  
Okay, the Let Us Shag might be a part of his bored imagination.

So when he brought a tub of meat to feed a herd of Thestrals in the nearby forest, he asked, "What is_ that_ all about? Aren't you going to ask her out?"  
"I'll be seeing her again." Rolf replied, cool as you please, watching her calling Thestrals in a high pitched shriek that frankly scared the shit out of Charlie.  
"When?" Charlie asked as Rolf took the tub from him. "I have seen dragons lay eggs faster."  
"Tomorrow. She is going to be working with me. After the breeding program finishes, we are going to look for creature called Crumple Horned Snorkack. If I am satisfied with her research to believe such a beast exists, that is." Rolf answered. "I am not going to take an entire night to lay a single egg like a Mummy Horntail, Weasley. Or whatever your metaphor was. I forget."  
Charlie cocked an eyebrow as Rolf turned his back on him,walking towards the forest. "Really."  
"Yeah."  
"For god's sake, just because she is going to be closeted in close quarters with you for research doesn't mean you should take a _year_ to show interest."  
"I never said that."  
"Of course you didn't, Scamander. But I know you like I know a dragon's hide. Just ask her out."  
"Not yet."  
"You are paranoid, Scamander."  
Rolf turned back and smiled. "That is why I only have you as my best friend, don't I, Charlie?"  
"I'm not a woman to be moved by that kind of flattery, bastard, so help me Merlin" he called out as Rolf laughed, taking the tub off meat to where Luna stood.

**prelude to part 4 : What Rolf saw.**

Charlie may call it paranoia, but it isn't the 'trust issues' that stops him from asking her out. Neville Longbottom had been present before the breeding program started, joking about illicit substances his most creative students made from plants to group of Herbology enthusiasts who attended the commencement day. He saw her watching him. The tenderness and envy in her expression caught him off guard. It was frightening how composed she was, watching Neville, so sure of her own feelings. Her envy at his ability to find a new love, and forget her. Frightening as her expression was, Rolf also found himself enamored by the disarming vulnerability in her face, the honesty in her demeanor that he himself could never be able to emulate. He wanted to know more, and yet he was hesitant.

She was no ordinary witch, of that he was sure. He wasn't sure that fact entirely pleased him.**  
**

**part 4: the conversation Charlie didn't overhear  
**  
Rolf's plans to charm her dropped the moment he tried to make a conversation. To be piously honest, how could he have charmed her holding a tub of fresh meat?  
It wasn't the most romantic of images.  
So he did the lesser evil than attempting to woo a beautiful woman while carrying fresh meat. He told her, not entirely sure, whether he actually intended to, about Hippogriffs. Again.

"Hippogriffs make me laugh" he had said. "I have this urge to laugh my head off whenever they bow. I take care not to show that though. Perceptive and proud creatures they are. They would rip me to shreds if I so much as smirk at them."

Oh god.  
Why was he talking about that now?  
He _never_ talked about it. Except one drunken time with Charlie, who he wasn't sure, entirely understood what he was trying to say because he kept hicupping through his narration.

She had looked at him,curiously. "Why?"  
He didn't answer. If he answered, she was going to think he was crazy. Or stoned with the illicit substances Neville had told his most creative Herbology students make.  
She was looking at him expectantly, and for some reason, with compassion. [What? Did he look upset?]  
He had stared at her, she didn't break eye contact until he muttered, "What would you know about it?"  
"I understand!" she had said, suddenly fierce. The gentle, placid expression gone. "I lost my mother to her own invention! I was 9 and I watched her die! For someone as wonderful as she, it was a small way to go. " Her voice shook but she continued. "Too abrupt. Too unkind. But I have seen a war and I know death never is, to _anybody_."  
She looked at him, her anger still present in her expression. " I know that was what you were trying to say, weren't you? You watched somebody die. You can see them too."  
He didn't apologise. "Yes. My great grandfather. Newt Scamander. Died while bowing to a hippogriff. Of cardiac arrest. It was a fucking joke."  
There it was, an anger. Apart from the morbid amusement, and the helpless sadness. An anger that death could not grant someone he loved and admired so much an ending with dignity. He watched her anger settle into compassion again, and he felt like an asshole for not apologising for his gross assumption.  
Yet, he still couldn't bring himself to apologise.  
The thestrals came to him, nuzzling his shoulder, so he threw their share of meat, one by one in the air and watching some of them leap and others wait till the flesh hit the ground with a dull splat.  
She stood next to him, and rubbed his back as if he was a Bowtruckle that needed to be soothed. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation.  
"Alright." he said, finally, turning around to face her. "Luna, I'm not going to be a teenage boy about this. We are far too old to dance around each other. Merlin knows how many mating dances I have seen, and the scarier ones end up with the female devouring the male after intercourse."  
She laughed, and it was the most ridiculous laughter he had ever seen. She rocked back and forth clutching her stomach, crying with mirth.  
It had made him smile.  
"I'm not sure why I said that. The point is, I fancy you."  
She was still laughing when she came to him, and brushed her hand against the side of his face. "I know."she said softy.  
He groaned. "Was I too obvious about it?"  
"Yes." she said and she kissed him.  
_There you go, Charlie,_ Rolf brought her closer to him. _It happened faster than a dragon laying an egg. Of course, that usually means it will end in a disaster._

Plenty of time to worry about that later though. He backed her against a tree, she held onto his neck ,fingers in his hair, blurring out sounds of Thestrals scraping at the bottom of the tub to look for more meat to eat.

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_read and review!_  
_since it is a copy i oversaw half asleep, do point errors. :)_


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